Lectionary blog for April 13, 2025
Sunday of the Passion/Palm Sunday
Isaiah 50:4-9a; Psalm 31:9-16;
Philippians 2:5-11; Luke 22:14–23:56
(Palms, Luke 19:28-40)
In preparing to write this reflection, I reread Luke’s Passion narrative a few times. One thing that struck me this year was all the empty, meaningless, false and degrading words that pile up in this narrative. Disciples waiver and miss the point. Enemies threaten, accuse and mock. Leaders speak piously about justice but then execute injustice. At one point, Jesus calls out the worthlessness of speech-acts with faithless folks, saying, “If I tell you, you will not believe, and if I ask a question, you will not answer” (Luke 22:67-68). Amid the spiral of violence and lawlessness that targeted Jesus, the war of words plays a central role.
Jesus begins the Passion night by remarking how much he has looked forward to celebrating Passover with his disciples. But, as often happens at eagerly anticipated holiday meals, civil table talk quickly devolves into arguments. First, the disciples debated who would betray Jesus (23). Then, as if that weren’t enough, the disciples quickly moved from talking about who was the worst among them to who was the best (24). Jesus is trying to celebrate a feast of freedom just before he was to be murdered to win freedom from sin and death, and the disciples are arguing about who is the greatest among them! To this piling up of worthless words, Simon Peter adds the ultimate boast of false overconfidence: “I am ready to go with you to prison and death!” (33). No, you are not, Peter (57-60).
And speaking of not being ready, the disciples—like many in our own time—don’t understand that Jesus’ way is one of peace. Jesus tells them that they should have all their things with them this night. For the purpose of fulfilling Scripture (37, Isaiah 53:12), someone with him needs to have a sword so they can be arrested. The disciples say they have two swords, and Jesus says those are enough (Luke 22:38). Throughout Jesus’ ministry, people have been trying to get him to take up arms against the Roman Empire, just as after his death, people have tried to enlist the Prince of Peace on their side in armed conflicts. His answer to violence then, and violence now, is the same: “No more of this!” (49-51).
We can, and should, lament the ways that words are used to deceive, to wound and to accuse. But we must also celebrate the ways that words—that the Word—lead(s) to eternal life.
In addition to Jesus’ disciples, his accusers pile up empty and false words. After they turn Jesus’ self-reference of “Son of Man” into “Son of God,” his accusers say they want no more testimony (69-71). The accusers lie flat out, telling Pilate that Jesus is misleading their nation and forbidding them to pay taxes to Caesar (Luke 23:2). When that routine doesn’t work in front of Pilate, the chief priests and scribes vehemently accuse Jesus in front of Herod as well (10). Neither Pilate nor Herod find any reason to condemn Jesus to death (23:14-15). But Pilate does so anyway.
This is, to me, the ultimate worthless word—to talk about justice and innocence, but then to execute someone who is innocent anyway. Say what you will about the chief priests, but at least they believed what they were saying and their actions lined up with their words. Pilate knew that Jesus was innocent and had him tortured to death anyway. Even in our day, persecuting innocent people to appease a political base—just as Pilate did—is far too common.
In a final humiliation, a small crowd of chief priests and leaders call for Pilate to release Barabbas, whose name means “Son of the Father.” They are asking for the Son of the Father to be given to them while shouting for Jesus, the true Son of the Father, to be killed. These words are worthless!
But, lest we give up hope in the power of words, there are two shining examples of words with meaning. The condemned prisoner at Jesus’ side, while also being tortured to death, asks Jesus to remember him when he inherits his kingdom. Whatever inspired the man—longing, hope, faith or something else—he humbly asks to just be remembered. Jesus grants him more than that, and he inherits eternal life.
And, before the whole sordid tale of abusive, false words, Jesus says the truest words of all: “This is my body, which is given for you. … This cup … is the new covenant in my blood” (Luke 22:19-20). We can, and should, lament the ways that words are used to deceive, to wound and to accuse. But we must also celebrate the ways that words—that the Word—lead(s) to eternal life.
